


unsteady

by orphan_account



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Merlin needs a break from losing everyone he loves seriously, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-07 00:39:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12222210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Later, when he was exhausted and his throat was hoarse and his eyes were red-rimmed from crying, Arthur guided him to his bed and gently pushed him down on top of it.They were half nonsense, and half grief-filled, but he spoke them anyway.“Why does everyone I love die?”





	unsteady

**Author's Note:**

> I WROTE SOME MERLIN ANGST HERE YOU GO

Merlin had wondered why Ida, a friend of his mother’s from the village, had sent him a letter.

Well, now he knew.

Hunith was ill, very much so, and it was clear she would not last much longer.

He remembered Ida from his youth. She’d always been kind to him, like an aunt. She would work the fields with Hunith and spend time embroidering with her and Will’s mother. Sometimes, she’d slip Merlin a fruit of some sort as a treat for being good. She was a friend to them, so it seemed only natural that she should write when Hunith was so close to death. She was also the only other person in the village, other than Merlin and Hunith, who could read and write, so that also could’ve been the case.

Gaius had been tending to some sick children in the lower town, and he was not around when the message was received. It was simply Merlin in the physician’s chambers, with a rare moment of free time he thought he could relish before he had to resume the chores Arthur set out for him. There was a knock on the door, and a messenger came in.

“Letter for the physician’s ward," he said, before turning and leaving.

The very second Merlin finished the letter, he saddled a horse from the stables, grabbed a waterskin, and rode out at full speed. He could be there in a day instead of two if he hurried. At the back of his consciousness, he realized that he shouldn’t leave from Arthur’s side, seeing as the king constantly got himself into near-death situations. However, for the first time in a long time, destiny was not at the forefront of his mind, and was therefore pushed away.

Arthur could survive a few days. He (hopefully) wasn’t _that_ incompetent at keeping himself alive, with or without Merlin’s help.

* * *

 He arrived at Ealdor barely a day later, leaving the weary horse by the town’s makeshift stables to be taken care of. His vision was only focused on one thing, and that was his old house.

As he burst in, his eyes landed on the bed. His mother, pale and older-looking than she had in a long time, was asleep. Ida was beside her, dabbing gently at her forehead with a damp rag.

She looked up when she saw him. “Merlin!”

He had no time to focus on greetings as he made his way over to them in long strides, kneeling at the bedside. “How is she?” It was not a question. It was a statement, hollow and flat, because even Merlin could sense how close to death she was. His magic yearned to be free, to wrap this entire house in a cocoon and not allow anyone in, but he reined it in with the little control he had left as pain filled his heart.

She looked so _frail_. Nothing like the strong woman she’d been all her life.

“It won’t be much longer.” Ida admitted.

Merlin swallowed thickly and nodded. “I can look after her.”

A hand on his shoulder, and then footsteps, and the closing of the door. The squeaky hinges brought forth buried memories, ones of him jumping around the house while playing pretend with Will and Hunith giving them fond glances and gentle chidings to take their adventures outside.

He was broken from his reverie as Hunith’s face screwed up slightly, as if she was in pain. His magic reached out, not entirely of his own accord, and flowed through her, in a last desperate attempt to heal her. Though peace flitted over her features once more, there was a sickness that reached her very heart, and Merlin and his magic could only mourn. There was no healing this. It was simply her time.

_It’s not fair._

_Since when has your life ever been fair?_ A dark voice murmured at the back of his mind. Will, Freya, Lancelot, Balinor. He’d lost all of them. And now he’d lose his mother, too.

Sometimes, he thought that destiny truly enjoyed making him suffer.

He cursed it.

Hunith made it through the night, holding on by a thread, and Merlin didn’t dare sleep for fear of her passing during his rest. Two days without sleep was beginning to take a hold on him, but he stayed awake. For Hunith.

It was warm the next morning. Light filtered under the doors and window, casting the tiny house aglow. However, the cheerful light outside did nothing to lift the dread inside.

Hunith’s eyes opened at last, and they softened when they found Merlin.

“Merlin.”

His head snapped up when he heard her voice.

“Mother,” he breathed, taking one of her hands and trying to weakly smile, just for her. He was sure that it came out as more of a grimace.

“You’ve grown so much, Merlin. You’re so much more than the young boy who I sent to Camelot all those years ago. You’re such a good man. I am so-” She coughed, and Merlin moved to cut her off, to tell her to save her breath, stay alive a little longer, but a gentle squeeze of his hand stopped him. “Proud. I am so proud of you, my darling.”

Merlin’s eyes glistened with tears. He could barely speak, the lump in his throat choking him, but he forced the words out. “I love you.”

Hunith smiled, a little brighter this time. “I love you too, Merlin.”

Gentle fingers stroked the side of his face, and he leaned into them, relishing the contact.

And then the light in her eyes dimmed and flickered out. The hand in his grew limp, and the one touching his face fell. A final breath left her body, and then, nothingness.

The tears finally fell, and he sobbed for the one who raised him, who sang him lullabies when he was small and dried his tears when he was sad. His magic reacted to his pain and grief, bubbling from within him like a roaring ocean. He held it all back as much as he could, but it didn’t stop a few pots from exploding.

* * *

 Everything was a blur.

He had gathered his mother’s body in his arms, already turning cold from the lack of life within her. He carried her away, away from the small village that they had once called home. It wasn’t his home, not anymore. Both Hunith and Will were dead. All that was there was the home in which he’d once resided.

Merlin buried his mother in a beautiful sunlit clearing, with bright flowers that wove through the grass and ivy that decorated the trees.

They used to come here, just her and him, when he was little. They would gather just enough of what little food they had for a small picnic, and Hunith would watch him with love as he floated stones and flowers and made shapes in the air for her.

Merlin’s eyes flashed, and a large stone was lifted from beneath the ground. It hovered and landed gently on top of the uneven dirt, and with a single thought his gentle magic carved a name into the stone: _Hunith._

Another gleam of gold and even more flowers sprang up around his feet, wrapping their stems around the stone and adorning the grave with color.

Merlin took one last glance at his work, before turning and beginning to walk. The flowers wouldn’t die, not so long as he had breath in his body.

He didn’t make it far.

His feet led him to a darker part of the forest, one where no birds sang and the trees were gnarled and thick. Roots twisted around his feet, and before he knew it his foot caught on one.

Merlin collapsed, falling to his knees and curling his fingers into the dirt. Sobs wracked his thin frame, and they turned to screams as he finally let go.

His eyes turned gold, but they weren’t peaceful and gentle. They were deadly, filled with rage and sorrow and grief and pain. Magic erupted from him. Ominous clouds began to fill the sky, black and threatening. Wind uprooted the trees, which were groaning and creaking under the combination of magic and weather. Curtains of rain beat down from the heavens, and lighting curled across the sky and hit the ground with sharp fury. The ground shook wildly and split beneath him.

This wasn’t Merlin, not anymore. This was Emrys, and he was angry.

Angry, because he had lost so many in such a short time. Angry, because they all died before their time, much before their time. They all should have lived to see wrinkles and grey hair and aching bones.

Sorrow, because they had not.

The storm paused, the ground ceased its trembling, the wind died down to nothing more than a gentle breeze. Clouds above dispersed, fading until the blue sky was visible once more.

The forest area around him had been completely destroyed. Trees, once mighty and tall, lay in shambles and broken on their sides. Grass and ground had been damaged beyond repair, with the grass scorched from lightning and ground opened wide by the quaking. And in the middle, tears still streaming down his pale face, lay Merlin. Not Emrys, but Merlin. Merlin, who was truly an orphan now, who’d lost too much in too little time.

Guilt sparked somewhere in his chest at being the cause of the destruction around him, but he forced himself upwards and trudged away.

* * *

 He’d gotten his horse from Ealdor, but not before telling Ida in a flat voice filled with exhaustion that the house was hers. Her own small cottage was falling apart at the foundation and at least his was sturdy, still standing after all these years.

There was nothing in the house he wanted, nothing special that he had to take with him. All that was left were the pained memories that had once been happy and wistful.

He took one last look around his childhood home, one last glance, and he turned and left.

He didn’t look back.

He didn’t plan on coming back, either.

* * *

 Merlin arrived in Camelot after two days. He tied up his horse at the stables and made his way to Gaius’ chambers. When he quietly opened the door, he only expected Gaius. He didn’t expect Arthur.

He shut the door, and the noise made Arthur look up from...whatever he’d been looking at. _Was that a book on sleeping herbs?_ A multitude of emotions flashed over Arthur’s face, relief and worry and fear all in one, before it finally settled into anger.

“ _Mer_ lin, where the _hell_ have you _been_?” He cried, stalking up to him and looking him straight in the eye. If Merlin hadn’t been so absolutely mentally drained, he probably would’ve backed up some. Arthur apparently hadn’t ever learned the meaning of personal space.

He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know if he should tell the truth or lie once more.

Lie. He hated lying.

Instead, he chose to dodge the question.

“Forgive me for my absence, my lord. I shall have any chores you wish done before the end of the day.”

Arthur seemed to recoil at the sound of his voice. It was flat, hollow, emotionless, _exhausted._ Merlin didn’t have the strength to act jovial. Not right now. Maybe not ever again. The only thing he could do was act as a servant would.

He was just so _tired_.

“Merlin…” Arthur’s voice was quiet now, laced thickly with worry, and was that fear? What was he afraid of?

“Yes, sire?” Was his vision blurry? His hands shaking? When had that happened?

“Look at me.” It was soft, but firm.

Merlin hadn’t realized he was looking at his trembling hands. All he knew was the darkness that blurred around the edge of his vision, that carried like a dark cloud in his mind. He suddenly felt light-headed, and the physician within him cried out. He had not eaten in days. He hadn’t slept once in the last four. Not to mention his powerful outburst of magic, which would have exerted enough to kill a normal sorcerer a hundred times over.

He raised his eyes to meet Arthur’s, saw the perturbed look as blue met blue, and then he felt his legs buckle as everything went dark.

* * *

 When Merlin was sick, his mother would sing to him.

To an outsider, she had nothing on the glorified women who went from kingdom to kingdom and performed, but to Merlin she had the most beautiful voice in the world, one that could stop wars and strike love into the hearts of tyrants and turn the coldest of hearts to the warmest.

She would pet his hair and sing a lullaby that her mother had sung to her, gentle voice reverberating through the tiny house, and Merlin always swore that her music did more than his magic ever did to heal him.

As he fell deeper and deeper into the recesses of darkness, he could hear it in the back of his mind.

He awoke when to the sun beating down on his eyelids. He tried opening them, only to find that they were like two lumps of steel.

_What…?_

_Oh._

The events came crashing down into his mind, and grief overtook him once more.

_She’s gone._

It took several minutes of struggling, but he finally managed to open his eyes. Not much, but enough to squint.

_How long have I been asleep?_

From the light outside, Merlin would assume it would be noon, or late morning at least. He saw clouds drifting gently in the open sky beyond his window, and he distantly remembered the time he had ridden on Kilgharrah. It had been a feeling of freedom, just him and the clouds and the stars above. He had understood, in that moment, why it had pained Kilgharrah so much to remain trapped beneath the ground for twenty years, the bright sky lost to a cramped cavern and darkness.

Voices from beyond his closed door interrupted his thoughts. He strained his ears to listen.

“-ever wake?”

“He will wake up, sire. You must give it time. From my examination, he was severely exhausted. He held out until he could no longer. He needs rest, and food, and he’ll be in good health before long.”

 _I’m awake now,_ he wanted to say, but his mouth refused to comply with his request. He didn’t want to return to his thoughts. All they held were memories of his mother. He didn’t want to think about her. He wanted to work, he wanted some raging sorcerer to try and take over Camelot, anything to drive away his thoughts. He’d rather scrub Arthur’s floors a thousand times over than remain in this bed any longer.

Ignoring his body’s protests, he slowly but surely climbed his way out of the bed, shuffling slowly over to the door and fumbling with the doorknob.

He was greeted with the sight of his father-figure and his prattish king, both looking back up at him in return.

“Merlin!”

Gaius was upon him in an instant, checking him over for non-existent injuries.

“Gaius- I’m fine. I’m fine,” he protested. His voice sounded hoarse and uncharacteristically flat, even to his own ears.

“My boy, you’ve been asleep for nearly four days. Whatever happened to you?” The old man’s expression was one of worry.

Merlin shuffled uneasily. He didn’t want to tell them. Telling them would make it real. He didn’t want it to be real. He wanted his mother.

He just wanted his mother.

“-lin!”

Merlin’s gaze snapped to Arthur’s, and he became dimly aware of the tears forming once more in his eyes.

Arthur’s expression was like he’d never seen it before. Any and all of the guarded mask that he usually wore because he was King had been stripped away. All that was pictured on his face now was real, true worry. Concern. Fear.

“I don’t-” _want to say it._ “Please-” _don’t make me say it. She can’t be dead, she can’t be dead..._

He missed the look that Gaius and Arthur shared, one that said _I’ll talk to him,_ but he didn’t miss the fleeting hand on his back before Gaius exited the chambers, and then a stronger pair gripped him by the shoulders.

“You went missing for nearly five days, you idiot.” The name wasn’t spoken in the teasing tone it normally held. Instead it was fond, and filled with some sort of half-desperation. “You sent Guinevere and Gaius and the knights into a panic.” The _and me_ was there, not spoken but heard all the same. “And you come back with a damn foot in the grave. What _happened,_ Merlin?”

And Merlin talked.

He told Arthur all of it, stumbling along in his words and unable to finish some sentences. All that he excluded was the part where he destroyed a rather large section of a forest, but it nearly slipped out along with the rest. He couldn’t stop, nothing would stop until he’d spat out the very last word and by then he was a shaking mess, because Mother was dead and she _couldn’t be dead, not her too-_

Arms encircled him, wrapping him in a strong grip, and he gasped slightly when the warm body pressed against his own. When had he gotten so cold?

His arms lifted, hesitantly at first, but then he was clinging to Arthur like a lifeline and sobbing into his shoulder.

Later, when he was exhausted and his throat was hoarse and his eyes were red-rimmed from crying, Arthur guided him to his bed and gently pushed him down on top of it.

They were half nonsense, and half grief-filled, but he spoke them anyway.

“Why does everyone I love die?”

He saw Arthur stiffen from the door, but he didn’t answer his question. Instead, he said, “Get some sleep, Merlin.”

Merlin, who was already starting to see blackness around his vision, could do nothing but comply.

* * *

 Arthur didn’t leave Merlin’s room, instead bringing in a chair and watching his friend sleep.

  
He would not leave him alone in his grief.

**Author's Note:**

> tell me how it was? xD and let me know if you find any mistakes so i can fix them!


End file.
